


Only a lesbian in Paris

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken one night stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a lesbian in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: early 2009, before the first album was even released.
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://www.run-riot.com/articles/blogs/interview-florence-machine) article.

“I’m only a lesbian in Paris.” That’s what she told a journalist, once.

It’s supposed to sound witty and ridiculous, like you would say “I’m only a vegetarian on Wednesdays” or “I’m only a Christian when it rains”. Hopefully, that’s how the statement will be taken anyway, but deep down Florence knows that her being a lesbian or not doesn’t have to do with where she is, as much as who she’s with.

And maybe, just maybe, with how much she’s had to drink.

They’re on a sort of forced bar crawl, because it’s Sunday night and it’s hard to find somewhere that’s open til late. So whenever one place shuts, they migrate to the next one, until they end up in what’s possibly the most impersonal club they’ve ever seen: everything is black and squared and different from the places they actually like to hang out at; there’s no flair. In spite of this, the dance floor is crammed with every last Parisian that doesn’t have to be in work early Monday morning - and perhaps some who do. The silver lining is that the drinks are pretty decent and that everyone else in their group has finally called it a night, leaving just the two of them to party on.

Florence has been drunk in front of Isa a number of times in the years that she’s known her; they’ve taken drugs together, they’ve been there for each other through the best and the worst of hangovers and comedowns. Whilst Isa knows that Flo is the weepy type of drunk, she is still unprepared for the drama that unravels when a guy tries to chat her up.

Isa doesn’t know if it’s because the guy looks a little like Florence’s ex, or if there’s something else at play, but when Florence comes back from the bar with two giant mojitos in hand and sees her talking to him, the look on her face is so stricken Isa might as well have bitchslapped her.

She hands over one of the glasses looking like she’s about to cry and bolts towards her nearest escape - the smokers’ enclosure. Isa is left with a decision to make, but there isn’t really any question: she shrugs apologetically towards the guy and follows suit.

She finds Florence with her back against a wall, in the middle of the staircase that leads out onto the street and, surprisingly, no bouncer’s bothering her or telling her to decide if she’s going up or down because she can’t just stand there. Isa’s grateful – she can already picture Florence crumpling to the floor in embarrassment if that were to add to her discomfort.

Flo nibbles at her cuticles nervously, unsure if her head is fuzzy because of the seven drinks she’s had, or anger, or both. She senses, more than sees, Isa materialise beside her, and it’s funny how the first thing she notices is that Isa’s head is level with hers. That’s absolutely impossible, especially considering she is wearing 4 inch heels and Isa’s not, but they are on a staircase and she’s standing one step below. The part of her brain that’s unhindered by alcohol can see that, but it still feels weird to be eye to eye with her – literally.

She suddenly feels very sheepish and she sniffles slightly. Isa takes a moment to ponder how someone who is almost 23 can look so childlike standing there, staring at the floor, trying so hard not to show that she’s crying when the rhythmic shake of her shoulders gives her away.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Isa asks. The big, thick doors are cutting out the sound, so she can talk instead of shout; she hopes if she keeps her voice relaxed it can possibly calm Florence down.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” and why Isa was expecting any other answer, she doesn’t know. _Of course_ Florence doesn’t know what’s wrong – she’s the kind of person who is always very much in touch with how she feels, but she hardly ever knows _why_.

“I guess I was looking forward to spending time just you and me, alone, we’ve not done it in a while, and we’d just managed to get rid of everyone else for a bit, and seeing you there with that guy, I felt… I felt… I don’t know.” If she had pen and paper, she could just scribble how she’s feeling and make sense of it later, but Isa’s in front of her, flesh and blood and worried silly, and the words are coming out all wrong.

Florence trails off and mumbles an apology even though she’s not sure she’s actually even done anything bad. When she raises her head to look _up_ at Isa - god, that’s so weird - Isa is watching her with such concern that she’s suddenly elated someone cares. She crosses her hands behind Isa’s neck and looks at the ceiling, shaking her head and feeling like the most idiotic person in the world. There is nothing delicate or romantic about the way she kisses Isa hard; it’s more like she’s scrambling to suck the love out of her, out of the one person who seems to care about her at that moment in time.

She is surprised that Isa kisses back. She thinks she hears someone woot as they are passing them to get back to the dancefloor upstairs, and for a brief moment she’s scared. Then she remembers she’s in another country, in a club that’s far from her first choice of hangout, her hair is wild and her mascara has probably run down to the middle of her cheeks. She doesn’t know how recognisable she is, but just to be on the safe side, she melts into Isa’s face even more.

As their lips part, she takes a deep breath and tries to reconstruct how she went out wanting to have fun and drink, and ended up _here_. She can’t finish the thought, though, because Isa grabs her hand in both of hers and drags her back into the club and out of it. It’s not exactly what Florence had in mind when she said “Guys, get dressed, we’re going out dancing.”

She does, however, learn a whole new way of dancing that night.

-

When she opens her eyes, she is surprised to feel she’s not hungover. She feels rested, in fact, when she can’t have had more than four hours of sleep.

_Where am I? This is Isa’s hotel room._

_Why am I not working? I’m on holiday._

_There were other people with us. I wonder if Grace knows where I am._

It takes a few moments for her to realise Isa isn’t there and when she does, her heart sinks. She looks at the mussed standard-issue hotel sheets next to her and then rolls over to face the window, remembering hands and tongues and teeth just a few hours before and wondering what the hell she - they - are going to do about it. Blind panic has almost taken over when she hears the distinctive sound of the swipe card unlocking the room.

Isa pushes the door in with her back and when she turns around, she’s carrying a tray with scrambled eggs on toast and three glasses of orange juice.

“I got you some breakfast”, she smirks. “I asked the lady in the breakfast room if I could take it upstairs to my friend _who isn’t well_.”

She doesn’t know that Florence is not hungover and Florence decides not to reveal that for now. “You should have got me McDonald’s”, she mumbles, but takes a sip of OJ anyway.

 _How do I play this?_ , she thinks. _I don’t really want to be making the first move. I did that last night already._ Maybe she should just downplay it, joke that this happened because they were in Paris, and see what happens then. She tries to push away the thought that it’s not so much the place that caused this, as much as the person whose room she’s in.

Isa stands by the window and points at her legs: “I couldn’t go to McDonald’s in my jammers, silly. I shouldn’t really have gone to the breakfast room in them, either. I got a few stares.”

Florence arches an eyebrow, but keeps her resolve not to initiate _the_ conversation.

“How are you feeling?” Isa asks. “You were in a state last night.”

There are a number of replies that come to mind, including confessing her head isn’t thumping at all, all the way to declaring that she actually feels pretty amazing and _boy_ does Isa have soft skin… Eventually, Florence just settles for “Sorry”. That way, if Isa is unhappy about what happened, they can just agree not to do it again, and if she’s happy about it, she’ll tell Flo flat out _not_ to be sorry.

But Isa doesn’t give any indication of one or the other. She just shakes her head and says, “As if I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Well, it’s never resulted in us having sex before.” Florence blurts out. She’s quick to regain her composure, though, and she ends up staring at her hands in her lap until Isa makes the next move.

“Flo, I love you. You know perfectly well you’re not the first girl I take into my bed – but you’re the first one that I kinda have to keep seeing afterwards.” 

_Is that so bad?_ , Florence thinks. She wills herself to look up; in her pyjamas and with the tall window behind her, Isa appears white-washed and her morning panda eyes contrast starkly with the light around her. She wishes she could tell her she’s stunning, even in cheap jammy bottoms and her makeup from the night before.

“Flo?”, Isa continues. “You know me. I don’t believe you have to be in a relationship with someone to have sex with them. Heck, I don’t even believe you have to be _in love_ with someone to share a special moment. You and me, we love each other very much. We’ve known each other ages. And maybe because of that, this was just another moment we experienced together.”

Florence bites her lip as she processes the words - her drive to say anything in response drained out of her. She didn’t know there was an answer she didn’t want to hear, but she knows now and this is it. Isa comes to sit on the side of the bed and brushes Flo’s matted hair behind her ear.

“Let’s get ready now,” she says. “I told Grace we’d be meeting her at twelve. Flea market, how does that sound?”

-

A few weeks later, Florence gets back together with her boyfriend and in doing so, makes herself unavailable to Isa again.

She makes up the story of being a lesbian in Paris, and with time she’s even able to start joking about it. Grace finds out, then Tom, then everyone else, and no one even seems particularly surprised, like all best friends end up in bed at some point or another. Florence smiles bittersweetly at these comments, she pretends she is ok with it not happening again, when really, she’s had to consciously stop putting herself in situations where it _might_. She knows that would only make her more attached - make her want something Isa can’t give her.

And what Isa can’t give her suddenly feels like the only thing she’s ever really yearned for.


End file.
